Standing In Your Grave
by It's me get over it
Summary: Effie has been taken prisoner by the Capitol; she's an Escort with a lot to hide. What will she confess to her captors? What will she lie about? Will she break or stay strong? Everyone has a breaking point, it's just a question of finding it. Some people enjoy finding that point and watching people break and burn. -Connected to my other stories, but can stand alone.-
1. 1

_Hi, I'm back- sort of. These will be a series of snippets of Effie's time in prison. There's hinted Hayffie, but I wouldn't call this a hayffie story because it very much focuses more on Effie and some others that end up in prison. This is what I ORIGINALLY started out writing as my part 3 to my story "Passion Lends Them Power'. That also means- yes it's part of my 'HungerWho-verse'(original, I know). Future chapters will feature some Victors, some of my OCs, and some back stories to incorporate DW companions._

 _Not all snippets will be this long, there is one other that is kinda long at the moment but that is a few down the line (you'll know which one that is, it's a doosy of an emotional ride concerning an OC- I almost cried at doing what I did to them), and some that are very short to help set things up for other things to come. Chapter currently range from over 2000 words to just hitting 500. So hit and miss with chapter lengths._

 _This will be updated very SPORADICALLY. There may be a week where I'll update more than once, but then there might be a month (or more) where I won't. I'm trying to keep this in a chronological order, but my muse is very fickle and likes jumping around all over the place. Thus many updates may happen at once, meaning there were parts I wrote a while ago and have now reached chronologically, or a long wait because I'm writing WAY future chapters; or I'm needing to try and get dates/ timing down to be mostly book compliant- baring my significant character changes, rather than plot changes._

 _Oh, yeah M 'cos you know torture and stuff that kids should not read, and CYA. So if that upsets you, don't read._

 _I don't own any characters from either Susan Collin's 'Hunger Games' or BBC's 'Doctor Who'._

 _So, on with the snippets!_

* * *

I refrained from saying anything as the Peacekeepers dragged me along to my awaiting cell. I kept my chin up, I'm not broken and it will only be their mistake to think otherwise. I may look an utter mess after they forcefully removed me from the Penthouse in the dead of night but I won't be belittled by it.

As I went to step inside, one them gave me a shove and I fell forward onto my hands and knees.

"Rude!" I cried back to the hallway from my place on the ground.

"Effie?" a voice from another cell calls.

I turned towards it. The voice was familiar, but horse like from over or under use.

"Effie, is that you?" another familiar voice called.

I moved to the force field that secured me inside the cell and looked out. Immediately across from me I could see a bloodied and beaten body. When they moved closer to their fielded wall, I couldn't help but gasp.

"Cinna? Oh thank the gods you're still alive!"

"For now," he crocked out.

A violent coughing fit left him struggling for breath and swaying dangerously, even while seated, there looked to me like a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth. My heart clenched at the sight and the knowledge of what faced us in the days ahead.

"I assumed the worst when you weren't seen after the Games began."

"I think this is the worst," the second voice commented.

At the cell adjacent to Cinna I saw a hand pushing against the field. I recognised that hand; Portia! Double the thanks.

"Dum spiro, spero," I recited to her softly.

Leaning forward I could make out her face similarly close to her own field. I saw confusion on her face. She didn't know the phrase.

"As long as I breathe, I hope," I translated with a sad smile.

"I didn't know you spoke Latin," Cinna said with a groan.

"I don't," I can't help but laugh humourlessly. "I know all of three Latin phrases; that one, Panem University's motto 'scientia est potestas', and 'in vino veritas'."

"Knowledge is power," Portia said with a nod, obviously recognising the motto.

"In wine there is truth," Cinna translated, with a grin.

"Yes." I press my hand more forcefully against the field and can feel it resisting with a numb tingling spreading through my hand. "I adore literature more than I love even couture, but I've never been good at grasping languages. My brother is the linguist." The tingling has become painful from the force I'm pressing against it, so I pull my hand back. "Was. The phrase about hope was my father's favourite," I admit with a sigh.

"And the phrase about wine?" Portia asked. I couldn't see her face, but I could hear the amused smirk on her face. "I wonder where you learnt that one."

"I think we all have a mutual friend who was _very_ into wine- well alcohol," Cinna commented, a smirk on his face. "One who is also quite happy to be vocal in his thoughts while inebriated."

I couldn't help my heart racing at their implication. Thankfully I'd learnt to maintain a very good poker face years ago. Without my normal makeup any hint of blush would be visible for all of Panem to see.

"I also noticed he tended to get quite handsy while drunk," Portia added.

"Most men get handsy when drunk," I interrupt. I leaned forward and direct my next comment to Portia, "And quite a few women too."

Portia chuckled raising her hands in a surrender pose. "What can I say, you have a hot body."

"That I do," I hummed my agreement. And why wouldn't I, when the Capitol was footing the bill to keep me this way. "But things have never been romantic between us. Sex is just sex." I try to dismiss their teasing implications. "We barely stand each other most of the time."

"People who barely stand each other but have sex, amazing sex?" Portia pressed. "Often."

"Yes." I let out a loud sigh.

I have been avoiding thinking too hard about Haymitch. My heart clenched at the thought of him. I hope they've all made it safely to Thirteen. I need them to have made it safe. Haymitch promised me he would keep the children safe. He _promised_ , and he always avoids making promises he couldn't keep.

It was getting harder and harder for us to pass things off as casual, non-romantic, sex between us to others. Those who knew us well saw through it completely, but I knew a lot of people either didn't know about us at all or believed I used it to keep him in line.

"You never had sex with me and you can't deny the spark between us."

"Yes, but for most of the time I've known you, Portia, you've been in a committed closed relationship. I am many things, but I never knowingly or willingly cheat."

I saw Portia incline her head in concession.

"What about the other… wine enthusiast?" It took my mind a moment to figure out who she meant. _Chaff._ "You've been as close to him as our mutual friend, but you've never slept with him."

A genuine laugh escaped me at that. "I very nearly did sleep with him once," I confessed. " _Very_ nearly."

Portia didn't need to know the President had sent me to him as congratulations for getting their third ever Victor for Eleven. Thankfully, Victors have always had the best timing, and that night Seeder was no exception. I hate to think what would've happened to our burgeoning friendship if she hadn't arrived when she did.

"You both know that for a number the title 'escort' is not honorary in the Games. And this is one case where I am -"

Before I can explain further, our conversation is interrupted by guards bringing two more people in; both who were protesting loudly at being manhandled; both Capitol men. As they pass my cell I recognise them; Gordie Weeks and Adonis Kane.

I do my best to mask my confusion. Neither of them had anything to do with the Rebellion. They were as loyalist as you could get for two men in their mid 20s who lived their lives as part of the ignorant mass of the Middle. Neither of them were threats with their influence either; simply because they had none. Why would the Capitol lock up Panem Broadcasting Corporation's ambitious evening and late night program selectors?

Portia and I made eye contact and I could see she didn't trust them being placed near us; she thought they were spies. But I was familiar with both men, having attended many parties with both, and easily heard the genuine panic and fear in their voices. I could honestly say neither had a particularly good poker face, and were often too eager to please making them ripe for manipulation. Why, I'd even manipulated them into doing a few favours for me without them realising it. But then again, for all I knew that could have been an act. They could have been cultivating their image for this very scenario.

Just like me.

Portia's suspicion and my moment of uncertainty centred me. From here on out I could trust no one. Always assume someone is watching and listening. Hide a truth within a lie, and a lie within a truth. Build up layer after layer; so that when one crumbles -because they will find a way to make me crumble- there will be another already in place. Always keeping your true self hidden; keeping you safe.

After all, _why were_ they placed in the same level as Cinna, Portia and I? I saw the rest of Peeta's prep team being escorted in. Hippogrif demanding to know what they'd done to Venia - he had seen men in black take her away in a hovercraft. Yet none of either team was here.

"Effie?" Cinna called, breaking me from my musing. He was sounding frightfully weak suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Did she… Did they… Safe?" I could see he was struggling to get the words out. He swayed dangerously while he fought to formulate a sentence. Silently I willed him to find the strength to give me enough to figure out _what_ he was asking. "Girl…?"

Ah.

I couldn't stop the smirk from covering my face. I knew it was one Haymitch would be proud of.

"Yes," I cut him off practically with a purr. "She has flown."

That was the last message I got before I had to get rid of my communicator; the Mockingjay was retrieved.

A victorious smile covered his face and I saw his eye lose focus, my own smile slipping off. All I could do was watch as he fell backwards loosing consciousness. The crack of his head meeting the solid ground made my stomach drop.

"Cinna?" Portia called out, frightfully. "Cinna!"

"He's out cold, Portia," I tell her. "Cinna's unconscious."

I don't try and offer her any false comforts, because I can see his chest barely moving. He's still breathing, but it's far too shallow.

It's hard to keep track of the time, the only noise is our breathes and the occasional hiccup hidden sob from the two men not far away, but it's after a visit from the guards delivering food that Cinna manages to regain consciousness. I can see he's clearly too weak to be able to sit up again, but he rolls himself to face the field that separates us. He doesn't even attempt to touch his food.

"Cinna?" I call out to him softly.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Portia pressing against her barrier to try and see me, to help her gauge Cinna's state.

He smiles weakly.

"Hey," he wheezed out tiredly.

"It's good to see you awake." I smile reassuringly at him.

All Cinna does is blink slowly and I can see the slight up turn at the corner of his mouth.

I wait to see if he'll respond, but silence remains. This time it feels so much heavier than what we'd been sitting in before. Cinna, always perceptive Cinna, must have picked up on it.

"Too quiet," he said, struggling to get the words out. "Eff… talk."

I choke out a soft laugh. "Is that your way of asking me to mindlessly prattle on?"

Cinna doesn't answer, but I see his second genuine smile while we're in this place.

"Very well," I sigh in mock annoyance. "No complaining later that I don't know when to stop talking."

"I make no promises," Portia calls, I see a ghost of a smile across her face.

She clearly can hear how weak Cinna is. We all knew the risks we took in challenging the Capitol. But expecting and _experiencing_ are two very different things. Portia has never experienced this before and she's hiding it well, but I know she's scared.

I draw her into a mindless conversation and even get our two other companions to join in too. They both sound scared and confused at the start, but I am nothing if not a skilled conversations. I even get Cinna to contribute with mono-syllable responses once or twice.

Where I can loose track of time in silence, its very easy for me to _keep_ track while there's talking. I suppose I've made a very reluctant career out it. It was nearly two hours later that Cinna took another turn for the worse.

His breathing had become more ragged slowly and I saw him start slipping in and out of consciousness for another hour before he spoke up again.

"Effie?"

"Yes?" I couldn't keep my concern from my voice.

"Sing… Do'ya… Hear…"

I chuckle. "Just for you Cinna, I'll hum what I know."

"Until…"

"Yes," I agree without thinking too hard about what he was really asking.

I slowly hum a song that I learnt so long ago. A song of change; of anger; of hope; a song of _revolution_. I know it's not safe to sing the words, so I don't, but the tune is as familiar to me as the words. A tune learnt at my father's side, Pantelemon learning beside me.

A long forgotten memory surfaced as I was humming. My father was leading our family back from the lake during the summer holidays; Pan on his back after he'd hurt his foot jumping off some rocks, Cynthia and I singing along as loudly as we could in the middle, her hand in mine-back when she trusted me implicitly- and our mother following last, trying to get all of us to lower our voices. We didn't have a care in the world. All those I loved most were there, and I felt like nothing could take away my excitement at learning our family was to grow. Before Pan or I spoke out of turn. Before we understood disagreeing with the Government was treason. Before we learnt the _price_ of treason.

Cinna's breath slowed while I continued to hum and I could see his face relaxing. He was finally finding peace away from the pain he's been suffering under.

"There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes," I whisper softly to myself once Cinna had stopped breathing. "Tomorrow comes."

* * *

 _Well that's my first snippet. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. Worth continuing? Did I get OOC? Your thoughts are always welcomed._


	2. 2

_Okay, here's another addition. Mainly because I've been working on this story/idea for ages so I have like the first four banked up. After that it's anyone's guess when I'll update this specifically. This hints at some more of my background for Effie and her family. Also, just warning- some things are lies presented as truths, truths presented as lies and facts purposefully misconstrued. Most will be revealed in time, or with direct knowledge of future/ past events._

* * *

"Miss Trinket, I'm not going to insult your intelligence."

"Now there's a change," I can't help but comment sarcastically. I grin and feel a pull on my lip where I suspect it has been split by one of the… enthusiastic Peacekeeper who brought me in.

My interrogator smiles back coldly, his eye showing his youth. His inexperience in the game of threats was shinning through and if things weren't so serious, I'd feel sorry for him.

"Tell us what you know about the new Rebellion; about District 13," he demanded.

"District 13 was destroyed at the end of the Dark Days of the Rebellion; before the Treaty of Treason was signed seventy-five years ago," I answered slowly like I was explaining it to a young child.

Pain erupted in my cheek from his fist, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I hit the blood smeared floor. Loath as I am towards the habit, I spat the blood that was gathering in my mouth out. There was no way I was going to willingly swallow my own blood. I wiped the corner of my mouth to remove the trickle that clung to me. I use this as an excuse to take a moment to regain my strength. Once I do, I stand and meet his eye again.

"Do I look stupid to you, Trinket?"

Does he really want me to say it? I thought.

I allowed my eyes to betray my thoughts and I soon found myself on my hands and knees; my stomach feeling like it could collapse in on itself. Before I could process that properly, I was hit across the back with a baton twice before I collapsed flat struggling for breath.

"This is your last chance to answer our questions and walk away."

I didn't know if he meant that as a threat or a promise, but, honestly, I'm under no illusion about how this is likely to end for me. I'm never walking away from here. In once, in for life; that's the truth of the Games, regardless of your role.

"Or what? You'll kill me? Torture me? I have no family left; there's no one for you to hold over me," I explained slowly; mockingly.

"Isn't there?"

I managed to hide the panic that swept through me. Could Jax have been caught? He was meant to have fully disappeared a week before even the Reaping. If he'd been caught then there was a mole within the Underground. And if there was a mole that deep, although I hate vulgarity, it would be accurate to say we're well and truly _fucked_.

A live feed of a woman and two children, one a seven year old boy, the other a girl who looked less than 2 years old, was displayed on one of the walls.

A flash of relief hit me, before concern replaced it. There was only one person they _might_ possibly use, but she was too safely connected; surely.

I raised my eyebrow in a silent request for clarification.

"Cynthia Trinket and her children; your nephew and niece; Dionysius and Lysandra."

I couldn't help it, but a maniacal laugh escaped me at his words. I covered my mouth to try and stem my laughter. It didn't work and I soon was breathless in my laughter. Maybe this man _is_ as stupid as I think he is.

"You mean Cynthia _Snow_? She hasn't been a Trinket for nearly 10 years. As for being my sister," I shake my hand dismissingly, "she burnt that bridge the day she turned 18- as soon as she could legally be free of me." I pointed to the screen, "They may be blood, but they aren't family. Not to me. I found out about those children's existence from the papers, not her. I've met the boy once in his life and never in the girl's. _But_ they are both blood and _family_ to Coriolanus Snow. Jonathan is the gentlest Snow you will ever meet, almost enough to make you question his relation to the President… until his family is threatened. Then," I grin mockingly, " _then_ the resemblance is all too clear. I think he would be more vexed at them being harmed – actually at them even being brought here- than I.

"It means nothing to me either way, but go on, gamble it. I believe there was a cell free in the corridor you took me from that you would find most comfortable." I grin at him smugly. "If you're lucky."

He paled at my words and I chuckled at how ill-informed he was. He genuinely didn't know Cynthia's connection! I opened my mouth to goad him again, years of friendship with Haymitch and Chaff had taught me to be quick with these.

But before the first word leaves my mouth the door is opened and another man walks in. One look at this man's eyes, and I became serious again. If my first interrogator was cold this man was ice personified.

"Sir, I-"

The younger man was knocked to the ground before he could get out his apology. And before I could blink the man standing pulled out a gun and shot him in the head point-blank.

I managed to not to scream, but did jump significantly at the loud noise in close range and in an enclosed room. I tried my best no to think about what the warm liquid that had splashed across me was.

"Tell me what you know," he demanded with a cold quiet authority.

"I know nothing. I have been told nothing of a new Rebellion," I half-lie meeting his eyes unwaveringly.

His coal black eyes bore into mine and he slowly rakes them over me; head to toe and back. I've had many men look me over, in many different ways; but this man's gaze made my skin crawl. The only other person whose gaze has made me as uncomfortable was President Snow's.

"We have a recording of you humming a song of the new Rebellion," he pressed, taking a step towards me.

Keeping his eye I answer, "A tune my father used to sing when I was a child. All my siblings would recognise it, even Cynthia."

"Then your father taught you a song of treason."

"My father died a traitor's death," I responded, carefully keeping my emotions in check and out of my voice. "I have done all that is asked of me since, and remained loyal."

"We shall see about that," he promised. Moving to the door he ushered two Peacekeepers in. "Take her to level three."

* * *

 _So, a second chapter. What you think? Good; bad; vaguely interested in where I might take this? Please let me know._


	3. 3

_So here's a third chapter and I will comment that as of now I don't know when I'll be updating next. RL is kinda bad atm. So many aspects of my life are kinda at that shit meet fan moment and it would almost be comical if parts weren't the stuff you NEVER joke about. And to try and focus on the positives, if I get through this month without totally loosing it; I will have fuel for angst GOLD. But, you know, one thing at a time._

 _I feel a little bit bad that there isn't much to this chapter, but its where things are up to chronologically. Sorry._

* * *

The floor is cool metal as I'm forced to walk bare foot down the corridor to my new holdings. My shoes are long gone, I suppress a shiver as my clothes are too thin and torn. I know I won't be able to keep the act of ignorance up. This is a level where torture is the favoured option for getting information, I don't know why I'm so confident of this, but I am.

"03, unlock- Trinket, E," the guard to my right called shoving me into a compartment- well cell I suppose. "Lock."

"Trinket? What the fuck?" Johanna Mason exclaimed from her cell opposite.

It's hard to know if that's a form of greeting or a genuine question from Johanna. She wouldn't have recognised me without my make-up and wigs.

"Honestly, Johanna; _language_ ," I admonish, fighting the urge to roll my eyes as I turn to face her from within my new cell.

I see Johanna not fight the urge and roll her eyes at me.

"Get off your fucking high horse. What are you doing down here? I thought the old men said you had family you were trying to keep safe."

"You think that would have any bearings on who they're going to question?" another voice asks. " _I_ shouldn't be here; _I_ had nothing to do with your plan."

I see Johanna ignore the voice of Enobaria Stonee coming from the third cell in this small holding. This is where they've brought the captured surviving Victor/Tributes. I know it's considered rude, but I follow Johanna's lead and ignore the District Two Victor; I don't care too much about her at this point.

"I did," I admit, not meeting Johanna's eye. "I don't any more."

I let my statement hang in the air for a while; Johanna doesn't look at me with pity, just curiosity.

"Jax disappeared before the Reaping and Pan…" I can't help pausing in my explaination.

Even now, months later, I still feel my insides freeze at his loss. I fight the sting behind my eyes.

No. I'm stronger than this. I will not cry over Pan again, and certainly _not here_. I've already witnessed enough without cracking. I allow my anger at their actions to fill me. Not as a burning fire, but as cold as a raging _snow_ storm. I square my shoulders look straight head, not seeing anything.

"Well, _apparently_ he bought the wrong kind of berries after the Victory Tour," my Capitol accent came out strong in my disgust. "How foolish my brother was to share those with his wife and daughter!"

"Well, I'm glad I don't have the surname Trinket then," Enobaria threw in, I see her lay down to stare at the ceiling.

I can see Johanna's eyes widen almost imperceptibly showing her surprise; at my words or my visible transformation before her eyes, it was unclear. She doesn't offer me words of sympathy, but I see her incline her head. A silent offering. And from Johanna her silence speaks as loudly as she normally does.

I shake my head dismissingly. Steel entering my eyes, the cold resolve hardening me.

"It's a dangerous game we're forced to play; all of us. And there's nothing more dangerous than someone with nothing left to lose." I meet Johanna's eye and I see realisation enter them. "It's time they paid for the blood on their hands."

We won't let them break us.

"Fuck 'em to the end," Johanna said with her hollow grin.

" _Language_ ," I tell her again. "It's not an appropriate time to curse."

"Shit, don't you ever swear? Or would that involve you loosening your corset enough for some blood to reach your fucking brain?"

"You're both insane," Enobaria threw in.

This time I don't fight it and roll my eyes, but I continue to ignore the District Two Victor. "Of course I swear; I swear when it's appropriate."

"Appropriate?!" Her grin became genuine. "The whole fucking point of cursing is that it's not fucking appropriate, you dumbass bitch."

I fight down my own grin, this is how we'll survive; familiar bickering.

* * *

 _Please take the time to review and let me know what you think. A review brightens any writer's day._


	4. 4

_So, I don't know where to start with this chapter... I'll save someone the comment- yes, I'm a bitch here. But I also got very upset when I was writing it. I'm the one who created this whole back story and happy life and memories for... well, that would be telling. (guest reviewer Kayla, be careful what you wish for. And I'll clarify, I don't consider this to be a "Hayffie story" because Haymitch isn't present for her time in prison, and I'm only doing her POV. BUT there will be a Hayffie relationship referenced at various points during this, to both ease and add to her prison burdens)_

 _This is what I was trying to get out all those months ago when I was trying to put together a part three to my story "Passion Lends Them Power". How many months later, and after a number of dark turns (both personally and narratively) this is what I've produced. There is a slight reference to a 'Doctor Who Companion' in this (I wonder if you can pick it?), and I'll say other companions that are part of my combined universe will make appearances soon-ish. I've got something written, but some other stuff needs to happen between **this** and those chapters._

 _As previous mentioned, I don't know when exactly I will update next, but please drop me a review. They are some of the best motivators a writer can have._

* * *

I found myself sitting in a room much like my previous interrogation room. A person in all white walked in, it wasn't until they spoke that I realised this interrogator was actually a woman. She needed to get that hair restyled.

"I have to say congratulations Miss Trinket. 41!" she happily exclaimed.

Suddenly the wall I was facing lit up with faces. I only needed to see two of them to realise what they were; who they were.

These were the faces of all the children I Reaped; thirty children who went home in wooden boxes because I called their name. There were a few from a district other than Twelve; seven faces, I quickly realised. And five Capitol ones. This was a wall of the faces I helped kill.

"41 credited kills at this point," she smiled a congratulatory smile. "That is very impressive. No Tribute or Escort has ever had numbers like this!

"There's the thirty children you called into the Games," she waved her hand and all the children from Twelve's faces on the wall were washed in red.

"There was the Timotheo Muggins affair during the 61st Games."

The artificially youthful face with neon hair became red washed.

"And then during the 64th you helped Celeste Yalmy reveal her true loyalties."

A face that smiled with kindly old and weary eyes became the next washed. It was a half lie that had haunted me for so many years. Celeste had wanted to be found out, she wanted her death to mean something, and it had given me the perfect opportunity to appear totally loyal. But if they were using it here now… did they know the truth of our relationship?

Chuckling she waved at the next name, "And not to mention Augustus Hills in 67th Games!"

The face of the over eager seventeen year old Capitol boy became the colour of blood.

"Then we reach the 70th, what a good year for you that was!"

The seven other District faces were washed out, but not red this time. This time they were blue; the children that were drowned. I saw Percy Richmond's face change from red to blue; the Tribute I got drowned because a spoilt Capitol brat couldn't wait to get me back in his bed. I barely spared a glance at Wilkmen Feathers face as it washed into the colour he drowned so many lives in.

"And finally; Seneca last year."

His face was washed out in red. The table before me glowed red and blue with the light reflecting off the wall. I was surprised they credited me with Seneca, he made his own choices that lead him to his death, but I kept my face as impassive as all the others.

"Now, you're probably wondering how we can credit you with Seneca's death," the woman commented, almost as if she could read my thoughts.

I didn't panic about my face having given anything away; if I got through Celeste's without revealing anything Seneca was no worries.

"Yes, he became misguided almost all on his own. But you _did_ help organise a meeting between him and Haymitch. Not to mention he made it known rather publicly how he felt about you. Repeatedly. We could sit here all day going through the footage of him obsessing and doting over you. And who could forget this vague, but moving interview _you_ gave, just before the rule adjustment was made?"

The wall became a screen showing an interview I gave to help sell the 'star crossed lovers' story during the 74th.

 _"I don't think there is a person in all of Panem who can't sympathise with one of them," I was saying to Caesar. "Peeta with his burning love for someone who never even noticed him; is there anyone who hasn't given their heart to someone seemingly unattainable? Or Katniss; who's spent so much time focusing on keeping her sister safe she never paused to think for herself. Now she has finally gotten that chance, the one person she's lost her heart to is the one person who she can't give it to due to circumstances beyond either of their control. A lot of people can relate to either one or both of them. I know_ _ **I**_ _can."_

 _"And what about you Effie; who of your star-crossed lovers do you relate to_ _ **most**_ _?" Caesar pointed his fingers that had been resting over his mouth while I'd been talking at me._

 _"Oh Katniss," I answered immediately. "Definitely; Katniss."_

 _"The girl on fire? Really, how? Why?" he opened his hands gesturing his question._

 _"It's no secret my background is in the Middle, and I've been the main carer for my youngest brother after both my parents died. I've spent so much time looking after him and making sure my career has been going where I want it to, that now… now he's all grown up and I'm sought after for fashion opinions; I've got time to take stock of things. And I came to realise the one man I've somehow lost my heart to is in a job that, as an Escort, I can_ _ **not**_ _have a relationship with. And I know I'm not the only one to have reached that kind of discovery." My voice drops to a soft whisper, almost conspiringly, "I think it's reciprocated." I smiled a depreciating smile, "I'm Katniss who has finally realised where my heart lies and it's in the hands of a man I can never be with."_

 _"Even you? No, I don't believe it!"_

 _I smiled shyly looking down and then I looked up my eyes staring down the camera, "If Katniss and Peeta can somehow make it work even within the Games, how can any of us, who are in the Capitol, say the love we feel within our heart is impossible to achieve as we feel it is now?"_

 _"Very true, Miss Trinket. Well said too. All the best to your Tributes; Effie Trinket Escort of District Twelve," Caesar finished up the interview and there was a smattering of applause before the footage cut off._

"That's what convinced us you had a strong enough influence over Crane's death to include him," the woman explained.

"That in itself doesn't seem like much for me to get credited for convincing him to so blatantly go against the very foundation of what the Hunger Games stood for," I retort. "Others have been more obsessed with me without defying the Capitol's ways."

" _Stand_ ," she corrected her eyes and voice hardening. "What the Hunger Games stand for."

"Oh my apologies," I answer, my voice dripping in false sincerity and sweetness. I must have hit a nerve and decide to strike again. "I must have missed something, because as far as I knew the 75th was a shambles; unresolved, more than one Tribute still standing and the arena has long been left behind. A couple living Tributes here in the Capitol and a couple disappeared off to -who knows where?"

"You know where."

"Do I? I know rumours. I know half truths that have been whispered, that have been circulating for _years_ now. I know that Victors have been tight lipped around the Capitol, but then again, they always have been regardless of any supposed friendships."

I could see this had taken a turn the woman didn't like. I had the upper hand in this and she didn't know how to wrestle it from me. I fought down a smirk. Being over confident now could only end in disaster.

"And how do you know it's only half true?"

I don't answer, only smile at her.

"We'll come back to that," she offered smiling back tightly. "So you don't think that was enough to credit you for Crane's actions? Well, there was this one, but we thought it was too much to credit the three to you, since your Victors had a fairly equal part in seeing their deaths be brought about."

My smile disappears and I feel my stomach drop as new footage is shown on the wall. If there was anything in my stomach I would fear it coming back up. The footage is from a Peacekeeper's helmet and before it even starts I realise what they are going to show me.

'Please, no. Not that. Please show me anything, but that,' I think. Nothing passes my lips though; I know they would only ignore such a plea.

It's footage from outside an apartment door; an apartment I haven't been to since before the Victory Tour. Since there were people inside alive to visit.

I don't want to see this. I can't. I can't! Please no!

But I won't show weakness. I won't turn away. Even if this knowledge might kill me; which I know _it will_.

The recording starts and the door's knocked down. I see my brother Pan jump to his feet and stand between the squad of Peacekeepers and his family; vainly trying to protect them. There's no sound, but I can see Demia in the background, her young face a mask of fear; mouth open in an unheard scream. Atlas grabs her daughter trying to shield her with her larger frame with some difficulty around the now visible baby bump she had.

Peacekeepers surround them and guns were wildly gesturing at them, I could see Pan's mouth moving; trying to reason with the lead Peacekeeper. Eventually I saw them herded into the kitchen where they were seated. I felt my eyes burn.

I'd seen them seated like this before; the three of them around their kitchen table like this. This was the photo they showed me of how their bodies were found.

This was the exact place they were going to die.

My breath shallowed and with blurry vision I saw the Peacekeeper place a punnet of nightlock berries on the middle of the table. Pan shook his head venomously. Atlas and Demia were crying as guns were shoved forcefully against the heads.

Pan was again yelling about them leaving his daughter alone, I could tell by his face. I knew how to read his face so well. We used to be able to hold entire conversations and discussions without saying a word. It used to irritate so many people, but we never stopped being able to read each other.

He was furious and scared of whatever they said back to him. Standing shakily he grabbed a handful of the berries and turned to his kitchen counter. His hands continued to shake as he made a berry smoothie for Demia. They must have given him an ultimatum; either he did it, or they would, and they wouldn't be as kind before the end.

I watched unable to hide my horror or disgust as my brother was forced to feed the nightlock smoothie first to daughter, then his wife. I felt tears stream down my face as he kissed them both on their forehead and kissed the place where his unborn child lay in Atlas before he returned to his seat.

He stared down the hidden camera and I could see his pain, rage and anguish as clear as day. Blue eyes, that I knew mirrored my own, looked me over in disgusted loathing before he took some of the berries into his mouth. I watched as the life left his eyes before he slumped forward; dead.

The image froze and it was the same image they showed me when I returned home after the Victory Tour. This is what I first saw when I was told my twin brother and his family were dead. Here it was before me again.

But this time I knew exactly what lead to this. There was no speculation, no what ifs. I'd seen what happened.

The wall flickered back to white, and I felt tears still running down my face. I quickly try and raise a feeble barrier in my mind to brace myself for how they're going to use this against me.

The woman all in white steps before me, a Cheshire cat grin on her face, as she leans across the table towards me. Anger boils in my veins like never before and I struggle to contain the urge to leap across the table and physically wipe the smile off her face.

I am not a physically violent person, but in this moment I can't even comprehend another way to try and get these consuming, burning feeling out. I want to kill her and any Capitol citizen who played a part in my family's death. I'd do it with my bare hands if I had to.

'Is this what goes through Tribute's minds?' I wonder, briefly. It that the thought and spark that distinguishes Tributes from Victors? Am I really comparing this to having to survive an actual Hunger Games?

I don't do it. Instead, I stay seated and struggle to get my mind around what it is I have just witnessed.

"Now _those_ deaths weren't solely on you; yes you were the one who got them on the list, _but_ it was your Victors' poor performance while on tour that made their deaths necessary; so we decided not to credit you with them," she said, laughter hidden within her voice. "What do you have to say about half truths now?"

I force my lips into the shape of a smile, hollow as it may be and I refuse to address what she wants. She continues with slurs against me, both my brothers, my family history. She even shows me another clip, this one is older footage; it's of the Chestertons' 'suicide'. No doubt hoping to get a reaction from me like Pan's death had. But it doesn't.

I feel rage burning deep within me, but around it all I can feel is numbness; almost to a point where it could consumes me, but the rage keeps it at bay.

I see the moment she realises she played her ace too soon and has no new shock value to force a reaction from me. If I wasn't so numb I think I would feel victorious or smug. But I don't.

In the end I can't even remember what she said that set me off, if she even did, but one moment I'm sitting back letting her taunts wash over me, the next I'm on my feet screaming at her. I'm cursing and swearing at her aiming the worst and most vile things that I could think of and things that I knew would get under her thick skin. I said things that would've made even Chaff blush.

Vaguely I register that she was initially in shock at my outburst, but once she recovered she beat me into silence. I reminded of why I was uncertain of her gender when she walked in.

She was solidly built and obviously knew how to give and throw punches. One of my insults obviously hits the mark and she is brutal in attacking me, not even asking me questions between punches or kicks.

And a part of me relishes it. The thought sickens me as much as the realisation doesn't surprise me. Maybe she could beat the memory out of my mind. Hopefully I've taunted her enough for her to physically beat the memory of my brother looking down the camera with nothing but loathing.

I _know_ Pan was directed it at the Peacekeeper who was wearing the helmet, a part of me _does_ know this, but that larger part of me feels like he loathed _me_. Loathed me for the way my actions didn't protect his family, like I was suppose to; for letting my Victors fail in convincing Panem of their love; for fanning the sparks of Revolution instead of distinguishing it to save Demia- his daughter, his daughter named in _my honour_! I did fail him. I failed my brother; my closest companion in life.

I have laughed; I have smiled; I have enjoyed myself since he, Atlas, Demia and their unborn child were erased from the Capitol; since they were killed. I deserve his loathing. But I want to forget it. I want this un-named Peacekeeper to beat the memory from my mind. I want to forget it.

Eventually at least two soldiers came into the interrogation room to take me away. As they lifted me I spat my mouth full of blood at her; staining her white commando boots. A thank-you of sorts, I'm sure she'd be proud to show off to others.

They dragged me back to the holding cells and I could feel Johanna's eyes on me as soon as we entered the holding corridor. I am thrown into my compartment like a rag doll.

"Filth," one of them spat at me.

I rolled over and glared half-heartily at their retreating backs. I notice Enobaria is gone. I can't muster enough to energy to care about the cold Career Victor.

"What was that?" Johanna asked, her voice displaying her confusion as much as her question.

"I may have sworn at them," I answered with a sigh, "repeatedly."

"What?" she laughed. "Why?"

"It seemed the appropriate thing to do."

Johanna's cackle was the last thing I heard before the numbness that had been growing inside me took over and I fell into the blissful blackness of unconsciousness.

* * *

 _Should I be ducking for cover? Is this actually too soft? I've got darker thoughts and ideas floating around in my head. I can either shoo them away, or give them a stage here. Let me know what you think._


	5. 5

_So, I'm putting up another chapter here. Sorry for my long absence with this, but I just couldn't get the inspiration to get this chapter out. I 95% finished the next chapter nearly a month ago but I am refusing to post this out of order, (I don't know why I'm setting myself this line, but we're all suffering for it) and this part is needed to bridge the gap, not essential, but the story flows better._

 _My apologies to any of the fabulous writers I regularly read and normally review, but I'm struggling to actually find time to read, write, tend to RL(study, work, family, friends, etc) and not totally destroy any mild form of sleeping pattern I have. I (mostly) have been reading, but I have not been giving them the attention they deserve, so I am not reviewing till I can. Sorry, and I can't believe you're stooping to reading this?_

 _I will be updating again tomorrow after I finish school (no idea what time of day that will be where you are, but it should be the afternoon for me and other Australians on the east coast)._

* * *

I emerged from the darkness to find myself still in the small cell that looked over the two other cells. They're both empty. The sound of a tray being dropped by my head was what roused me. Pulling myself up, I look down at the food. It's a small tray that has a cup of water sitting in a niche next to a grey slimy looking clump that, I presume, is my food.

Well, I say _food_ , but it neither looks nor smells edible. Putting off eating it, I take a sip of the water they've given me. What wasn't spilt when they dropped the tray, that is to say.

I eye the slimy clump and debate within myself. Do I want to go on a hunger strike? It will leave me significantly weakened. That can be both a positive and a negative.

No, I need all the strength I can get here.

With great difficulty, because the smell alone made me want to gag, I eat a couple of mouthfuls. I am taking another small sip of my water to try and wash it down when they bring Johanna back.

"Oh look, the sleeping beauty has awoken," she cracks as she's shoved into her cell.

I don't bother retorting but watch Johanna closely. She doesn't seem to have been hurt baldy; she's moving freely. Just me so far then.

I don't think the woman Peacekeeper was meant to actually attack me like she did, I realise. If I didn't loath her for what she showed me, I'd be concerned for her safety, but she could die for all I care right now.

"What is this shit? Are we expected to actually eat this crap?" Johanna cries, loudly dropping her spoon on the tray.

"I think it was a Hutspot, but it was over cooked and the wrong potatoes were used," I answer.

"A what?"

"A potato dish," I simplify. "It's edible at least, and not the worst thing I've ever eaten."

Johanna watched me eat another mouthful before she took a bite herself. Her groan of disgust didn't stop her from swallowing it; thankfully.

"Ergh! What are they doing; getting you to cook it or something?"

"I'm a perfectly competent cook, thank you. I can follow a recipe. This disaster would be closer to something like your attempt," I shoot back.

"Fuck you," she calls out around her next mouthful of food.

I glare at her for talking with food in her mouth, but don't bother actually saying anything. I won't give her the satisfaction.

"Roughly, how long was I out?" I ask, out of curiosity.

"Half a day," Johanna answers with a shrug, "I think. Might've been less."

I nod distractedly.

"Wanna talk about it?" she asks, staring at her food.

"Do you want to talk about what just happened to you?" I hedge quickly.

I may have told Johanna about Pan's death but I can barely get my head around the details they showed me. I don't know how I'm going to live with this. This wasn't what I was preparing myself for.

Johanna shrugs again scooping some more food into her mouth with her fingers. "They asked some questions; hit me when I didn't give the answers they wanted; threatened that things would get worse if I didn't cooperate." She swallows her food. "Not anything I'm not used to from Peacekeepers." She put another scoop into her mouth before pointing at me. "You?"

I look down at my food and take another mouthful before I swallow and softly answer, "They confirmed that some old friends hadn't committed suicide years ago by showing me the footage. And… and they showed me my brother and his family's death too. I didn't really hear the questions they asked after that." I move gingerly to lean against the wall. "I insulted the Peacekeeper and she cracked it. Details get hazy after that."

I can see Johanna thinking over what I just shared with her. I can't help wonder what she's focusing on more; what they showed me, or how I got myself carried back here.

"Must have been some good insults for the state he put you in."

That answers that.

"She," I correct. "A woman in a man's world can be easier to get under the skin of if they don't accept their femineity. And some men too, for that matter; look for the eye twitch," I explain absentmindedly.

"Why are you only giving me good insulting tips now?" Johanna groans dropping her mostly empty tray down.

"Because now I'll be enjoying it, not suffering under it," I answer simply.

Johanna didn't answer instead she scooped the remains of her food on a finger and flicked it at me. It only hit her force field, but we grinned at each other.

"They've barely started with us, haven't they? Johanna suddenly asked an uncommonly hesitant tone to her voice. She let her fear of what was to come flash in her eyes momentarily.

They must have put some horrid thoughts in her head to put fear into her. Or maybe she actually trusts me enough to share this. Neither thought is comforting while we're here; they will use that against her, and against me.

"Oh Johanna," I sighed, closing my eyes. I couldn't look into her eyes as I confirm what she fears. "They haven't even begun."


	6. 6

_Here is the promised next chapter. This has my darkest turn so far. It's earning my 'M' rating- I think. I have been delving into dark thoughts and am wondering if people think this is dark enough (psychologically) or if I should pursue to darker depths. I kind of already have most of her physical torture planned out in my mind, but there is 'wiggle room' with that too._

 _Also, if any others are fandom-whores like me you will see various references (or nods) to a multitude of other works not just Doctor Who. I wouldn't expect people to get every one of them, I have a very eclectic taste, and some are **very** obscure details but also if you think it's a nod it probably is._

* * *

I look around the room they've left me in. Another interrogation room. Its plan white, like the other rooms have been, two chairs, three including the one I'm seated in, at a plain sliver table in the middle of the room. The room was neither large, nor was it particularly small. There would be plenty of room for me to pace around all the furniture in the room, without them needing to be touching each other, but at the same time it's not so large that I could do so with my arms out and not be touching either a chair or the walls.

I wonder if they expected me to pace, given the room there is. Normally I would consider pacing, but I just don't have the energy to waste. And I don't want to indicate how unsettled I am too.

I spare a thought for who my interrogator will be this time. Possibly two people, given the fact there are two spare chairs. I doubt it will be either of my previous people.

The door opened and I had to hide the way my stomach sank, cold fear began slowly seeping up my body. After the fear came a familiar dread. As much as I hate the very men before me, I also know that my face has revealed nothing thanks to years of masking it from … _them_.

But then a treacherous thought crossed my mind; ' _What if they've previously been holding back?_ '

No. I could face whatever they chose to do.

I can.

I will.

"Effie!" Diomedes calls out loudly, greeting me like an old friend.

He even makes me stand and kisses the air by each of my cheeks. I keep my sweetest smile plastered on my face even after he sees me seated again.

"Forgive me," I make a gesture to my face and clothes. "I'm not fit to be seen. I would have tried harder if I knew I was going to be seeing the _President's son_ today."

"Pish-tosh," he waves it away in that voice that was always fake and sickly sweet. "We're as good as _family_ ; I wouldn't dream of holding this against you. We both know how much family means."

I don't respond. Just smile.

"I feel like we've known each other for so long, and so well-" Aristo adds while Diomedes takes a seat opposite me, "that we're all like old friends."

"I could never forget either of you," I respond sincerely.

"Oh, now isn't that sweet," Diomedes comments, He points his finger at his associate, "I told you she was a sweet, didn't I Aristo?"

"Yes, you did," Aristo breathes, tracing a finger along my shoulders. "Very _sweet_."

I dig my fingers into my legs under the table to help me suppress the shudder that tries to pass through my body at his touch.

"I've missed talking to you like this, Effie," Diomedes says, with genuine fondness in his voice.

"It's always stimulating," I throw in, letting sarcasm colour my words.

"Do you know why you were always my favourite?" Aristo asks, leaning close to my ear.

"Because I'm the prettiest you've ever had?" I offer, in my most fake Escort voice, and with a smile.

Diomedes laughs that cold laugh of his. "Oh you're definitely the prettiest he's ever had."

I couldn't stop the shudder when Aristo bites my ear in what he no doubt thinks is a playful way. An arm snakes around my neck and holds me still as he tilts my head. I have no idea what he is doing until a finger gently brushes the cuts on my cheek and lip.

"I thought we were promised first blood?" Aristo asks his annoyance audible.

"She resisted arrest and more unfortunately picked up Abernathy's ability to get under people's skin; she's been under that District dog often enough that something was bound to have rubbed off." Diomedes waves off whatever was about to pass Aristo's lips and continues, "Already been taken care of for taking first blood and being a general idiot."

Ah, so the woman has been killed.

"Good," Aristo growls. He licks the length of my cut cheek before placing a possessive kiss on my lips.

Letting me go, he resumes his place standing behind me.

"So," Diomedes starts.

A silence soon stretches out between us. I tilt my head, inviting him to continue.

"Do you have anything you would like to share? Offer up?"

I met his hard eyes and unflinchingly answer, "I recommend avoiding the food here, can upset a person's digestion; although it definitely won't hurt anyone here's figure."

Diomedes laughs.

Another silence quickly falls. I know what they want me to do. But I won't.

I won't talk. They have no idea about my actual role and if they think I'm going to crack under _Diomedes'_ watch they certainly have another thing coming.

That thing has done enough to me; he will not take the last of my dignity. He will not be the keeper of _any_ of my secrets. Or his pet Aristo either.

Diomedes sighs loudly.

"Fine. I gave you a chance."

He lookx excited at whatever was to come next for me. He clicks his fingers and I felt Aristo's calloused hands enclose around my forearms. I am forced to my feet then shoved forcefully against the table.

It was all so fast I don't get a chance to put my hands up to try and protect my face. My head bounces on the table, and in a daze I felt them force my arms above my head and something being placed around them.

Once my daze passes I realise it was Diomedes favourite accessory; one-way-ties. The ties secure my arms to the legs of the table. My shins are at the table's edge and I can feel more ties being placed around my legs and secured to the table top. I tried to wriggle myself to get some leverage, but there is none for me to get.

I felt the cool touch of a blade near my neck and I freeze.

"There's a good girl," calls Diomedes, an unvoiced laugh colouring his tone. "Now, I'm going to ask you some questions and if you lie… well," the blade presses against my back again above my thin dress. I bite my lip to stop any sound escaping my lips, fear of what he could do courses through me. His breath is by my ear as he finishes with a whisper, "I don't think I need to tell you, it won't be pleasant."

"I don't know anything," I call out. "They never trusted me to tell me anything!"

The blade sinks into my back, over my left shoulder blade and I couldn't help a cry of pain passing my lips.

"First lie," Aristo counts, excitedly.

"What did the District Dog Abernathy tell you?" Diomedes asks, sounding as casual as if he was asking about the weather. "What did he tell you about the escape from the Arena?"

"Nothing!" I gasp out.

The blade presses into the same cut but deeper.

"Second," Diomedes counts, taking over form Aristo.

"I wasn't told! They knew I wanted to protect Katniss and Peeta, that's all they trusted me with, keeping them alive in the Arena! That's all! They are the closest thing to family I have left."

"Oh, now that's a big lie number three," Diomedes answers.

Aristo creates a new cut, still on my left shoulder blade. Can't he pick another spot to cut into me?

"True!" I cry pain making my voice go far too high, even for my own liking.

"Who's dear Cindy to you, then?" he asks meeting my eye. "Who are her children to you?"

Without flinching I answer, "My sister died the day she gave birth to a _Snow_. Her and those bastards of hers are not family to me." I laugh, the pain radiating from my shoulder making my head feel light. "She never turned up to Pan's funeral. She never contacted any of us about the birth of her children. During the good and the bad, she was no where to be found."

Tears fill my eyes, a mix of pain, fear, and hysteria course through me.

"They are _your_ nephew and niece, not _mine_. _Cindy_ tried to buy my forgiveness before the girl was born. She tried to pay me off! Like she could put a price on her abandonment of our family; like money was something important to us. She is no sister to me!"

Somewhere in the back of my mind I realise it's best for us to stay on Cynthia rather than anything else they could ask me. If I can just stay focused enough to keep Diomedes thinking about this, that is.

"She is nothing but the shadow of a girl I used to know; I used to call my sister. _Cindy_ is a Snow, not a Trinket."

Aristo's laugh snaps Diomedes out of the attention he'd been placing on what I was saying. Shit! That is probably going to refocus him.

"Would you listen to her? She makes it sound like Trinket is a name to be proud of."

Soon both men are laughing and one of them slaps my wounds and I can't stop from crying out in pain.

"Okay, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt with that one," Diomedes offers. "We'll say you're on two lies at the moment."

All I can do is focus on my breathing, trying to regain control over myself.

"Where did they escape to after the Arena?"

"I was never told," I lie. "I was never part of that!"

"Three," Snow counts.

Disgust rolls around in my stomach. I don't know what the numbers are going to add up to, but I know it is going to be more pain.

"What District were they headed for?"

"I wasn't told."

"Four."

Another cut.

"Which Districts were involved?"

"I don't know which were in on it!"

"Five."

Another cut by Bolton into my left shoulder.

"How were they getting to their location?"

I don't even both to answer the question now. I would think that is too obvious? A slap to my cuts has me grunting.

"Six."

"I didn't say a lie," I snap, turning to try and see Diomedes while Aristo cuts into my back again.

"A lie of omission is still a lie," Aristo says. I can practically hear his smirk.

Great. They're just going to keep counting regardless of what I do now. Isn't that just great?

"Who was the Rebel Leader in the Capitol?"

A part way back in my mind wanted to laugh. They couldn't begin to guess at that.

"I don't know."

"Seven," he calls, as I hear him scrap a chair closer while Aristo cuts me again.

"When were you reruited?"

"After the Quell announcement," I gasp.

No cut comes. Nor a number called.

Ha, my biggest lie yet and they don't even count it!

"Who approached you?"

"I don't know." The blade was on my skin as I cry out my clarification, "I don't remember her name! I don't remember!"

"Who was she?"

"I didn't recognise her. She was clearly from an ambitious Middle family; that's all I know about her!"

I wonder when they will realise how much of a lie that was; clearly they don't realise it now. It's almost laughable.

"Who was the outside contact?"

"I was never told."

"Eight."

Another cut over a previous cut.

"Why won't you believe me?" I scream. "I wasn't told these details! I wasn't considered important enough."

It just doesn't make sense that they would believe I was only recruited within the last year, yet expect me have these other details. If that's how disorganised they think the Rebellion is, they will never believe the truth.

Diomedes pulls my hair and forces my head to rise, meeting his eye.

"Because there is one thing Effie Trinket will never let herself be." I look at him confused by that statement. "Uninformed. You would never get involved in this unless you knew these kinds of details. You forget," he leans in close to my ear, "I _know_ you Euphemia Trinket; in so many senses of that word."

A chill runs down my spine. Diomedes does know me, and very well. We have known each other for years; nearly half my life. If there was anyone from the Capitol side who I thought could see through any of my bald face lies it's him. And he is also the one person I am most determined to not show my true colours to.

"Then you know I tell the truth," I gasp out.

"I know you've lied," he answers. Shrugging he looks over to Aristo. "How many today?"

"Eight."

"Eight," he sighs. He lets go of my head and stands up walking away from me. "Go bring me eight heads, Bolton."

 _'Eight heads'_?! What the hell does that mean?

I hear Aristo leave the room. Diomedes walks around behind me, and I stiffen as I feel he's body near my secured legs. His hands move along my backside and down my leg.

Oh no. He's going to take me right here, right now. I haven't been preparing myself for this. I'm not-

 _SNAP!_

I completely loose my train of thought when I realise that was the sound of the one-way tie being broken. He- He was cutting me loose.

 _SNAP!_

Why would he be doing this?

 _SNAP! SNAP!_

I'm free. I push myself off the table and soon find myself on the floor leaning against a table leg that I'd just been tied to. My legs can't hold my weight, and my arms were weakened by the damage to my shoulder so I can't support myself on them.

Diomedes kicks my leg, not hard enough to bruise, but enough for me to know it was the only warning he was going to give me.

"Get out from under the table, traitor rat."

My legs wobble as I stumble over to the nearest chair. I'd just pulled myself onto it when a grinning Aristo bursts back bringing an enclosed trolley with him. His clothes have blood splattered over them, and the smell makes my stomach roll.

What did Diomedes instruct him to do?

"Got 'em."

"Good," Snow praises, walking to the trolley.

He opens the lid and the smile that crosses his face when he looks inside freezes the blood in my veins.

"You were told your credited kills, weren't you?" he asks me.

I don't answer but narrow my eyes at him. Where is this going? I could take a guess, but I don't like the thought.

Diomedes sighs, "I'm afraid it's not exactly accurate any more."

He picks something out from the trolley and throws it into my lap. A warm weight hits my lap and I look down.

I jerk away from… _it_. I stumble over the chair knocking it over and end up on my back; my legs still tangled on the fallen chair. The sickening sound of flesh making contact with the hard ground continues as _it_ rolls back towards the bastards. A scream tries to escape my throat, but I manage to swallow it down.

"Gaius was innocent!" I shout at them instead. "I haven't been close to him since my father died! He _never_ had anything to do with the Games! He was a loyal citizen! He was loyal! An innocent!"

I struggle to return my eyes to the head of my childhood friend that now lays at the feet of the _things_ that took it from him. Why kill Gaius? I've barely spoken to him in over fifteen years! He had _nothing_ to do with the Underground Rebellion or any of this!

Why…

"Oh," Aristo cries with audible insincerity. "Does that mean you didn't know his lover? That he was an innocent too?"

Another head is pulled out of the trolley. I didn't know the face, but the look of fear and bright blood that stains the cheeks; I could feel the image searing itself into my psyche. Pressure was building behind my eyes; I want to cry, but I can't. I try to shake the feeling out of my head.

"No? Well, that's a shame."

"What about this one?" Diomedes asks throwing another _head_ at me.

I look down into the open brown eyes of my university friend; Sam Stewart. She had sympathy for the rebellion cause, and the Districts but she had no mind or patience for the politics. Her chestnut eyes weren't filled with fear, but an acceptance that cracked through my tears barrier.

"Sam had no desire for anyone but a Snow to rule Panem," I sob.

This wasn't strictly a lie either. Sam did want Snow ruling. It's just the Snow she always believed would rule fairly was Jonathan, not his father or older brother.

I trace her features slowly. Sam never wanted to fight any war. She abhorred all violence; she could barely tolerate mandatory watching of the Games. How little of the Games she watched was as close to rebelling as she ever got!

After I go over her eyebrows, nose, ears and cheeks, I press my forehead to hers.

"She never wanted any Rebellion. Ask anyone who knew her!" I chock out.

"Then why was she married to the Rebel Leader; Balthasar?" Aristo prompts, holding another head up.

I have to physically bite my tongue to stop myself from correcting him. 'Balthasar' was a code name in the Underground. Only a handful of people know both real names and code names. He wasn't part of that. The poor man simply shared the same name.

I try not to think about how warm my lap has become covered in the blood of people whose only crime was befriending me in my youth. Tears escape my eyes.

Their blood is on me.

 _Oh no!_

That's only four people. Diomedes said _eight_ heads. Oh no. Who else's death is on me?

I swallow my fear as I look and meet Diomedes' cold eyes.

"Who else have you needlessly killed?" I rasp out.

"Funny you should ask that," Aristo chuckles lifting one, "these last four come in a set."

 _NO! Nonononono! Not them!_

Ixidorr had gotten out of the Underground! He'd gotten out! He left the moment Acacia had become pregnant. He was protecting his family! His daughters! Said he would only consider returning once they were old enough to manage alone if he had to die for the cause! He never wanted them to be at risk!

 _NO!_

Two smaller objects land in my lap and I can't stop the scream of pain from escaping.

Jacynth; red hair and blue eyes staring up at me from my lap. She is three and a half!

Margalo; her curly hair finally long enough to almost reach her blue eyes is tainted with red and sticking to her forehead. She was one only a week ago. I'd missed her birthday.

My stomach can't stand it as my noise is filled by the smell of both blood and that baby smell that always surrounds children under two. It's a combination that should never mix. I turn my head and bring up all the food I've managed to consume while here.

I know I'm hysterical, but I can't stop it.

I cradle my god-daughter's and her sister's head close to me while a cry.

Two more children I have failed.

Two more girls that once looked at me with complete trust and are now dead because of it.

Because of me.

There is nothing left in my stomach but I keep on retching. I hold the two small heads close to my chest as I dry retch over my own legs unable to move.

Two Peacekeepers suddenly appear beside me. How long have I been crying hysterically? One forces their heads out of my hands and I struggle; screaming, scratching, kicking, whatever I have to do to try and keep them with me. I have to help them!

Unfortunately they quickly overpower me and the girls are taken away.

I can't bring myself to care that they are dragging me back to my cell and scratching my legs up. I just can not find the strength to try and walk.

Again I am thrown in like a rag doll. Only this time a guard spoke up.

"Those cells aren't smell-proof. I don't want to have to deal with that smell!" I hear him call.

"Then you wash her down. I'm not touching that," one of the Peacekeepers who escorted me snaps back.

Vaguely I'm aware that I do smell horrid. Neither blood nor vomit are a pleasant scent, and both surround me. I am covered in them.

I am just starting to fully retreat into my mind when a cold blast of water hits me.

Sputtering I get on my hands and knees, but the water is so strong it knocks me to my side when I try to wipe my face with my right hand. A scream escapes me when the stream hits my left shoulder at the same time it hits the hard ground.

The guard doesn't say a word, but the stream of water turns off after the last bodily-fluid is washed away.

I lie still hoping the darkness will come to consume me but the water has woken my mind.

"What was that?" Johanna asks. I see her out of the corner of my eye leaning close to her force-field.

"The blood of people who trusted me and loved me at one point in our lives," I answer staring straight at the ceiling.

Why can't the numbness consume me again? I just want to sink into that oblivion. I was almost there when the cold water snapped me back.

"The sooner you forget it, the sooner they can't use it against you," Johanna offers, her voice monotonous; without any emotion. "The dead can't help us here. We're alone."

"Shut up! Just shut up!" I snap all my bitterness is turning into venom and I'm spitting it at her. "I've never had the sour taste of having loved ones literally dead at my feet before; their blood _literally_ on me. Just because _you_ 're used to living with it, doesn't mean you can presume to lecture me. I'm not like you; I can't just _forget_."

Somewhere deep in my mind a voice is yelling at me that was too far, but pain and anger are drowning it out. Johanna doesn't say anything, so I roll over to face the blank wall; my back is to Johanna and the force-fields that separate us.

I wonder if it's really possible to truly shut your emotions away in a hell like this. The suppressed sob that racks through my body causes my bleeding back to contact the force-field and painfully reminds me I can't. And trying only makes it somehow worse.

May whatever divine force that lives out there forgive me; I'm human. I'm human and I fear I'm not strong enough to survive this. I'm not strong enough to endure.

* * *

 _I welcome thoughts and opinions here. Is it dark enough, or do I go darker?_

 _It will be another long break with this. I can't quite get the next chapter right. A lot of it is written, but I'm just not happy with it and I can't say for sure when I will have time to revamp it to the point I'm happy._


End file.
